Dark Destiny
by Kerri
Summary: Q Returns To Deliver The Final Verdict In The Trial Concerning Humanity's Existence!
1. Prologue, Questions

_Star Trek: _

_The Next Generation_

_ _

_Dark _

_Destiny_

_ _

_Kerri Ann Shotts_

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_

# Dark Destiny

## Prologue  
  
Questions  
  


The stars moved slowly. _So peaceful, it seems out there, _Jean-Luc thought. _So much unlike my own mind._ He sighed. Recent happenings in Star Fleet Command had him questioning his faith in the system. Too many people in high places now seemed only too willing to compromise the ideas upon which the Federation was based in order to gain personal advancement. _Am I one of the few who actually believe what the Federation was based on? Or am I too old-fashioned?_

His mind wandered to what had so disturbed his sense of peace. His desk computer showed a communique from Admiral Necheyev offering him a promotion to Admiral if he so desired it. Such a promotion would undoubtedly bring with it all the responsibilities of the office – a desk job, pushing papers around. _But could I do more there, or here? Am I useful where I am?_ The Captain of the _Enterprise_ was familiar with the Vulcan view of usefulness: _Anything that averts the natural order of the universe, that is, anything that stops and/or reverses the natural entropy of the universe_. "Am I preventing the entropy of the Federation by staying a Captain?" he wondered out loud.

His mind regressed among past experiences – most striking, the _Enterprise_ had thwarted the attempt to destroy a mere hundred people in order to extend the lives of the children of those people and to apply the benefits of some sort of metaphasic radiation to extend the lifespan of those in the Federation. Though command officially looked upon the attempted murders with disdain, Picard had to wonder how many individuals were secretly praising Admiral Kiros(?) for his initiative to make the Federation "strong" again. _'Strong.' – at what cost to ourselves do we make our name 'strong'? And at what cost to our principles for which we are so known?_

"Personal Memo," the neutral female voice of the _Enterprise_ began – "The reception for the I'lkaron is scheduled to begin in twenty minutes." Picard's reverie now broken, he stood from his seat, adjusted his tunic, and aimed for the door. As soon as he stepped on the bridge, he called out: "Counsellor, would you accompany me to the ballroom?"

Deanna Troi knew what would come next. A _quick_ briefing upon the culture of the I'lkaron, how to say 'hello,' and what they would expect a gracious host to do for them while they "enjoyed" each other's company. "I would be delighted," was all she said as she walked towards the 'lift. Its doors opened obediently to admit both people. When the doors had closed with a slight hiss, and the captain had instructed the turbolift to go to Deck 27, Deanna began. "Their formal greeting is _Ichta' nikhen meashah moire_." Picard repeated the phrase as well as his vocal chords would allow. His attempts met with a grin from the Counsellor. "I'm not sure that you're going to want to say _that_ to our guests." Confusion on his face, he queried, "What _did_ I just say?" At this, Deanna felt her cheeks grow slightly red. Roughly translated, '_Iktar nichimesa mier'_ had nothing to do with 'hello' – it had everything to do with proposal – the marriage type, that is. "I believe, sir, you just asked me to marry you."

The look on Picard's face was priceless, and Deanna could no longer hold a straight face. Jean-Luc's solemn facade could no longer remain formal. After he had a good laugh, he said: "Let's try that again, shall we?"

"Right," Deanna began. "_Ichta' nikhen meashah moire._" The captain dutifully repeated the phrase, careful to correctly pronounce all the obvious nuances he had missed the time before. Deanna's grin widened. "That's better. Now – per tradition, you will be required wear the formal cloak and dance with the wife of the _I'chorik_." The captain's face showed that he clearly disliked such formalities – they had a tendency to make him look stupid. "Are you absolutely _sure_ that there's no way I can't delegate this to Riker – or Data?"

Troi gave him a grave look. "And risk alienating them and causing them to withdraw from the Federation? I don't think so. Their local customs clearly dictate that the host wear the cloak and dance with the _I'chorik_'s wife." Jean-Luc decided it wasn't worth the risk. The turbolift doors opened with a hiss and the two walked out into the corridor leading to the ballroom.

+ * +

The occasion was pretty much in full swing. Several of the guests were talking pleasantly with crewmen, and _vice versa_. Locating the _I'chorik_ proved to be slightly difficult, as it seemed that the I'lkoran all looked the same. But with Deanna's unerring sense of "who's who," finding him only took a few minutes.

Picard took a moment to reflect upon what he saw before him. The I'lkorie was only about five feet tall, was _very_ thin – it seemed that there was only bones and no muscle – but other than that, the I'lkorie looked very much like a human being. _Am I being presumptious when I compare their looks to ours?_ _Oh well – here goes with the greeting: _"_Ichta' nikhen meashah moire._"

The _I'chorik_ smiled, showing off his perfectly chiseled teeth – _My! Those things look sharp!_ – and responded in kind: "_Kora noek ethlicshwa._ We are grateful for your hospitality, Captain. We look forward to a long and joyful relationship with your Federation." At this Picard also smiled; some of the tension had worn off. The _I'chorik_ paused a second, and motioned to one of his group. A remarkable looking young woman – _at least, that's my assumption_ – brought forward a cloak similar to what the _I'chorik_ was wearing, though it had been altered so it would appropriately fit the six feet, four inch frame of the captain. Accepting the garment and slipping it over his dress uniform proved to be slightly more difficult than it would appear to be, but aside from a few lumps showing through, the cloak fit reasonably well. He turned back to the _I'chorik_. "I believe a dance is in order, is it not?"

The _I'chorik_'s smile grew wider, showing even more of his (_so sharp_) pointed teeth. Though the smile presently was not menacing, Picard decided right then and there that he would rather not meet up with one of these people in a dark corridor. The guest walked towards Picard and, in turning, revealed the woman with which Picard was expected to dance.

Jean-Luc found it hard to imagine that _this_ was the frail-looking _I'chorik_'s wife. She stood taller than even himself, and was, well, _large_. The woman moved towards Picard with her hand offered. Picard took it, and as best as he could muster said: "May I have this dance?" A pointy-toothed smile was his reward, and thus they began.

As soon as he could, Jean-Luc excused himself from his guests claiming "duty calls," and began to exit the ballroom. At that precise moment, Riker, Data, and Geordi walked through the main doors. Spying Picard wasn't difficult – after all, he was the only person with a bald head and a lumpy cloak. "Well, if it isn't Friar Tuck!" joked Riker. Picard gave a look that would put any ordinary man six feet under, while Geordi decided that his internal laughs couldn't be stopped from making it on to the outside. Data, on the other hand, spoke simply: "There is a striking resemblance, sir. But where is _Robin Hood_?"

The captain merely said: "Dead – which is what all of you are going to be. Just wait." A smile formed on his lips and he excused himself from the three giggling officers. After the door had closed behind him, he walked down the corridor towards the closest turbolift, attempting to work his way out of the cloak that had been intended as a gift.

The 'lift doors closed behind him, and he realized that he was alone. Though he had excused himself upon the pretense of duty, his real reasons were personal. He sighed and told the turbolift to take him to "deck 5," where his quarters were. As it traveled, his thoughts turned back to the communique from StarFleet. _Should I accept it? How many more times will they ask if I keep turning them down? Do I _want_ to be a captain forever?_

The doors hissed open, and he walked towards his quarters with thoughts of Earth. _If I do accept, I can finally go _home. Sure, he thought of the _Enterprise_ as a home, but recently – _when did this feeling begin?_ – he had a gnawing longing for his true _home_ on _terra firma_. He punched in his access code at the door and walked into his darkened quarters. Walking towards his couch, he picked up a padd and sat down with a sigh. On the padd was a letter from his long dead brother. _Oh how many years I missed knowing my family_. The letters and a few pictures were all he had left of the family, that at the time he really didn't know he had.

Standing up and straightening his tunic, he walked towards the replicator. "Earl Grey, Hot." After a few seconds, a steaming cup of tea materialized out of thin air. No sooner had he sat down again, did his door chime. _Do I want visitors?_ He decided that he didn't, but there was probably only one person who knew where he was currently, and that was probably the Counselor. "Computer. Lights, normal illumination. Door open."

The doors parted to reveal exactly the person he thought would be standing there. "May I come in, sir?" Picard sat up straight, and faked a smile. "Of course, Counselor. Would you like anything to drink?" He started to get up, but sat back down when he noticed her shaking her head – "No." She sat down in a chair near the couch. "Care to talk about it?" she asked, innocently.

"About what?" returned the captain. "About why I sense such indecision and melancholy from you." A sigh. _I never could hide my feelings from her. Nor can I lie to her now._ He reached for the padd on the table in front of him. He pressed a few buttons, and then handed it to Deanna. "That's part of it," he said, with little attempt to make the news on the padd sound good.

It was plainly a communique, from StarFleet:

StarFleet Command Comminique  
From: Admiral Necheyev (SS#:939-29384-09943322)  
To: Captain Jean-Luc Picard, _Enterprise_

Dear Jean-Luc,

It's been a while, since we've corresponded, hasn't it? I hope that life finds you well and happy. I do have a specific question, however, for my sudden arrival in your mailbox. I think I already know the answer, but it has come up again at Command.

Admiral Niekor wants to promote you to Admiral. I would like to see you one too, and I'm required to sign off on the promotion as to whether or not I would recommend it. Jean-Luc, I realize that this would be a large step – I know you love your ship and crew, but we could use you here too. You can't remain a captain, forever, after all.

So what's your answer? I'm pretty sure you won't surprise me, but I could always hope. No rush – the request will remain on my table as long as necessary.

Friends,

Mark

At first, Deanna was stunned. _I've known that eventually he would move on, but – deep, down, I've always been of the opinion that I would always be his Counselor, and He my captain. Things have been going very well, and this… well, it's unexpected to say the least._ Her captain's words brought her out of her catatonic state: "_Could_ I be of more use out there? _Have_ I been here too long? What would my acceptance of this mean for me, my crew, my ship?"

Sensing that some sort of answer needed to be made, Deanna started: "Well, I think it's quite an honor to be asked to become an Admiral. Most people would jump at the chance. And you _could_ be of great use to StarFleet back home, sir. But we would miss you greatly here, as well."

Picard sighed. He turned around from facing the stars and faced his counselor. "That's what I mean, Deanna! Have I been here too long? There are plenty of captains out there who stay on a ship no more than two years, whip the crew into shape and move on. The captain doesn't miss the ship or crew, and likewise: the crew doesn't miss their captain. Instead they welcome the new one, with no expectations about character or length of stay. Would the same occur here? I've become so _comfortable_ with my position here that I'm not sure what it would be like to move on."

"Captain – you've been that for what? Fourteen years, at least? You're not useless here; you've not overstayed your 'welcome.' We function as crew and captain and ship as _one_. How many other ships out there can claim that? We work well together _because_ we've stayed together for so long. We aren't just crew versus captain, rather we are more like _family_." There was a sense of melancholy when she mentioned that last word – _that's the other half of his feelings_, she thought internally. "Surely you remember what we were like the first few years – we didn't always work well together, and we certainly had our issues. But we've worked through all that and now we're like well-oiled gears – nothing out of whack, everything in sync. I think you're just as useful out here as you could be back on Earth."

Another sigh. "That's the other part, Deanna. I don't know when it started, but I _sorely_ miss _Home_. Sure, the _Enterprise_ has been a home, even a _family_, but…" He looked down and studied his hands as he tried to formulate what wouldn't come. He looked at Deanna with a longing in his eyes: "I _want _to go Home, Deanna."

It was Deanna's turn to study her hands. She took a deep breath, and, knowing it wouldn't be easy to say, spoke: "Then, Jean-Luc, by all means – take the promotion. If that's what you_ really_ want."

"I think it is, counselor. I think it is."

+ * +

The object moved silently through space, finding nothing in its path that could withstand its ferocity. Every ship, even every world had found itself obliterated when it had attempted to fight against its might. But that was the past. Perhaps this world would be different. It certainly looked like so many others: blue, white, green, brown, and with approximately seven billion sentient life forms living life with no thought of what might soon befall them.

It sent out its welcome: "We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own. You will service the collective. Resistance is futile."

_  


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	2. Chapter 1, Day Of Awakening

# Dark Destiny

## Chapter One  
  
Day Of Reckoning  
  


_Star Fleet Command_

_Star Date: 64299.9498_

An excited ensign burst through the doors into the central command room. He was clearly out of breath, and that hampered his attempts to get anyone to take him to the Admiral. When one finally understood him, they queried why he was in such shape. Frustrated with his attempt to get to the Admiral quickly, he burst: "The **_BORG_**!"

_Immediately_, the entire room was quiet. Even the beeps and twitters of the computers seemed to mute in response to the words just broadcast over the entire floor. After what seemed hours to the now embarrassed ensign, an admiral spoke: "Ensign, _what did you just say?_"

The ensign moved closer to the admiral and started in. "Well, sir, I work in the communications area, and we've just picked up a rather distressing signal, to say the least. I never thought we'd hear their voices again, sir – not after they were so soundly defeated a few years back!" _This ensign is going to get very emotional in a second_, the admiral thought. Not wanting a "ready-to-burst" ensign on the command floor, he tried to calm the man down. "Calm down, Ensign. I'm sure it's nothing we need to worry about. If you could simply show us the transmission we would then be in a position to evaluate if we need to be worried or not." The ensign nodded and moved towards the large screen behind the admiral. He proceeded to type a few commands into a panel below the screen that would start the playback of the transmission. Then he stood back and turned away from the screen as if not wanting to see or hear what would soon be said.

"We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own. You will service the collective. Resistance is futile." There was total silence in the room as the message began to repeat. All eyes were on the screen, and there seemed to be a collective gasp. The admiral punched something on a panel near him, and the image froze.

After the initial shock was over, he whispered: "No wonder we lost contact with you a year ago, _Kathryn_."

It was true. Realization of who the speaker was, or rather, _used to be_ ran through everyone's minds in the room. Voyager had been lost for several years, but regular contact had been established, then it had been lost about a year ago. Though several transmissions had been sent, none had been returned, and that certainly spelled trouble. With still several thousands of light years separating the Alpha quadrant and the last known position of Voyager, no wreckage had yet to be located. And now – knowledge most definitely was not bliss. Locutis had been shock enough, but now there was new enemy – with up-to-date information, no less. _We barely won the last time. How are we going to win this time?_

He turned, and with finality in his voice he spoke: "Recall all our ships!"

+ * +

Star Fleet Communique  
From: Star Fleet Command  
To: All Star Fleet Ship Captains

You are being immediately recalled to Starbase 1. We have a new threat from the Borg – in fact there's a large ship orbiting Earth at this moment. We have yet to engage them, nor have they engaged us, but we will need a sizeable force just in case. The warp five limitation is off – get back with your best speed.

The transmissions that have been sent have been attached to help bring you up to speed as to what you may face when you get here.

Jean-Luc Picard walked briskly out of his ready room and onto the bridge of the _Enterprise E_. _How long ago was it that we fought of the Borg in this very same ship? Has it been five years?_ There was no time for remembrances, he chided himself, instead Earth was in dire need. "Commander Data, E.T.A. for Earth at best speed?"

"At warp 9.995, three days, seven hours, twenty-one minutes, and seven seconds," said the android.

_Is that the best we can do?_ "Ensign Morales, lay in a course for Earth, Warp 9.995. Commander Worf, make sure that the I'lkoran are beamed back to _I'kor_ with a suitable apology," Picard said solemnly. When the ensign had reported the course laid in, Picard was seated in the center chair noticing how well it fit his body. Looking towards the ensign, he pointed a finger. "Engage."

He paused a second, noticing that nearly all the eyes of the bridge crew were on him, waiting for him to explain why they had just offloaded their "precious" guests, and were now speeding back to Earth with such rarely used speed. Picard thought the news grim enough that it should be immediately delivered to his crew, but with caution. _No use to stir up panic – yet._ With that, he stood, straightened his tunic, and began to walk towards the conference room. "All senior crew report to the conference room _now_."

The doors hissed open and he walked into the dark room. The stars sped across the viewport with an urgency that he had not felt in years. He hadn't heard the collective in his mind for _years_ – the last time they attacked he had known it. Why hadn't he known about this? _Or how much have they changed in these years?_ He took his seat at the head of the table. While he was waiting for all his crew to come in, he was quickly creating the presentation the crew would need to see. Not all the crew would understand the significance of the transmission if they weren't brought up to speed.

After about ten minutes, all the senior crew members were accounted for and sitting at their positions at the table. Picard looked over them all. So many friends – _more than just crew_. William Riker sat to his right, followed by Data – _how human he has become in some thirty-five years_ – and Geordi La Forge. _His eyes finally look like real eyes, even though he still sees so much more than normal eyes. So much pressure to conform, it seems, to the norm of how we humans think we should look. Is it right?_ His eyes fell on the doctor, Beverly Crusher, and then Worf and Deanna. _They're all here. I guess we should get started… He pressed the button on the panel in front of him that would start the presentation._

A StarFleet ship shimmered into existence just above the table by using recently installed holo-projectors in the room. Across the saucer section was stenciled: _USS Voyager. Picard began to speak. "As you all know, the Starship Voyager was lost about eight years ago. About four years ago Starfleet found away to remain in communication with them. Their journey home was expected to take about five more years from that point. Unfortunately, about a year ago, we lost __all contact with the ship. We had no idea why, and we have yet to get to the last known position of the ship to investigate what happened._

"Now, however, we know what happened to the Voyager and her crew." Picard touched another button, and the ship was replaced by a face. Then it spoke:

"We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own. You will service the collective. Resistance is futile."

"Oh my…" was the collective voice of the senior crew. They all knew who captained the lost ship, and here was someone who _used to be_ a Star Fleet captain, but was now obviously Borg. Picard continued, "It's obvious that the Borg have found a new spokesperson after their attempt with me as Locutis failed." He paused. "But now they have information about our technology as recent as a year ago."

The realization of this news finally sunk in. They had barely pulled Picard back from the Borg and it was only through Data's ingenuity had they defeated them. Would they be able to survive this new crisis with a much tougher enemy?

+ * +

Captain's Log, Stardate 64302.3921

Commander Data has informed me that we are within one hour of approaching the heart of the Federation: Earth. It was three days ago that we received the recall from StarFleet, and it has been about two days since we've received any communication from Earth. This has me _very_ concerned that perhaps things have gone very wrong for Earth.

Turning to personal matters I have yet to decide if I will take a promotion to the admiralty, though I am leaning towards accepting the promotion. I know someone who will do just as good, if not better of a job than I in taking over the _Enterprise_ and will recommend Commander Riker heartily. I know how much he has wanted to take over the reigns of th– 

"_Riker to Captain Picard,_" __interrupted his communicator. "Computer, pause log recording." A twitter was the only acknowledgement that the log was paused. Picard tapped his insignia. "Picard here."

"_We've got Starbase One on short range sensors. At least – what there is left of it."_

"Excuse me, Commander?" _That didn't sound good at all._

_"Perhaps you should come out here and see for yourself, sir."_

"On my way. Picard out." Jean-Luc stood up from his seat and straightened out his uniform. _I've got to stop doing that!_ he told himself. He walked out of his – _stop that; it won't be mine much longer_ – the ready room and onto the bridge. "What's going on, Commander?"

Riker got out of the center chair to allow the captain to sit. "Starbase One is about four million miles away. As far as we can tell, there's a lot of debris out there, not complete structures – and there's too much debris to just account for Starbase One." Jean-Luc's worries were beginning to become reality. He said, "So we've got debris of ships as well as the starbase." Riker nodded gravely. "It looks that way, sir."

Picard sighed. "What about Earth?"

This time Commander Data replied. "Earth is at the very edge of short range sensors. It is still there. Anything more, concerning life signs, we won't know until we can get in orbit."

"On screen," said Picard.

The viewscreen shifted to show the view of the Earth. "Mr. Data, is there something wrong with our sensors?"

"No sir. May I ask why you should inquire?"

Picard thought it could just be his eyes, so he closed them and rubbed them in an attempt to clear his vision. But when he looked back at the screen, he still saw the same thing. "Mr. Data, do I see a _ring_ around Earth?"

The android looked up and swiveled to face the captain. "Yes, sir. The ring would be the debris of the starbase and, it would seem, about one hundred ships."

If Picard would've been standing, he would've had trouble staying up from the blow of the number of ships destroyed. As it was, he could barely stay seated. _How many souls were destroyed?_ "Where is the Borg ship?"

Riker responded: "It's not currently detectable on sensors. If it's still around, it could be behind the planet or the moon."

_Or just hiding, cloaked perhaps?_ thought Picard. Who knows what they might have learned about current technology from the transmissions sent to Voyager – they might've found some tactics that they liked. _One just never can tell with them_.

Within seconds, though, the alert sirens were blaring as they had just been caught "with their pants down" so to speak. Data was the first to notice: "Sir! A vessel directly behind us!"

Captain Picard was out of his seat _instantly_. "On screen," he barked with an urgency that had not found its way into his voice for quite some time. Almost as quickly the ship appeared on the viewscreen. Immediately Picard forgot about the next command he was going to yell – he was dumbstruck by what was on the viewer. Actually – most of the crew were as well. Hanging out there in space was a glossy, shining _Federation_ ship. When the shock had finally subsided, Riker yelled out "Ship's registry?"

Data tapped a few keys in the console directly in front of him and then turned around to face the commander. "Sir – it's broadcasting _U.S.S. Voyager_."

Picard was confused. "Friend or foe, Data?"

"My best 'guess,' sir, is foe – though I at am a loss to come up with a reason as to why we aren't facing a Borg cube instead."

"My thoughts exactly, Mr. Data."

Another voice intruded into the captain's thoughts. "_Definitely _foe, sir. I can't sense any of the normal emotions a Starfleet ship would be broadcasting," said the counselor. Picard turned around and walked back to his chair. _I guess that answers that question. Why no Borg cube? Most puzzling._

Just before he sat down, he spun around in the direction of Ensign Morales. "Worf, raise shields. Ensign, prepare a quick 'get away' in case we need it. Worf, hail that ship."

"Shields raised, sir," came the gruff reply from tactical.

"Course plotted, sir," was the reply from the conn.

"Channel open, sir."

Picard cleared his throat and straightened his uniform – _stop that!_ "On screen, Mr. Worf."

"Aye."

Most attempts at communication with a Borg ship resulted in the calling ship staring down a long hallway, directly towards the center of the ship. With this attempt, however, things were different. The bridge of the Voyager was clearly visible with several people manning their appropriate stations. There was a combined gasp when everyone realized that no one on Voyager _looked like a Borg!_

Without saying a word, Picard turned back around, gave the "kill" signal to Worf and looked straight at Deanna Troi. She looked back, slowly trying to gather her thoughts as to this strange occasion. "All I can say, sir, is that I don't sense _anything_ from them." Picard wanted more concrete answers than this: "Theories, anyone?"

A voice came from behind. "Perhaps the Borg have the ability to significantly change they way they appear. It would certainly be most logical to appear in a way that would not frighten those you wish to assimilate. I presume that the victims would be less inclined to fight until it was too late."

Picard sighed. _This could either be the real thing, or a very deep rabbit hole._ He turned around whilst giving the "I want to talk to them" signal to Worf. _And I've been falling _really_ far, too. How much will the sudden stop at the bottom hurt?_ He stepped closer to the viewscreen.

"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_, representing the United Federation of Planets. It's good to see you, Captain Janeway."

"It's good to see you too." The voice seemed pleasant enough. Could she really be a Borg? _She looked so different in the transmissions sent to us by StarFleet Command. Could the Borg have assimilated some sort of 'shape shifting' technology? Questions to be resolved later, I suppose. _"Welcome back to the Alpha Quadrant, Captain," he returned.

A smile appeared on the other captain's face. "Oh no, captain. It is I who welcome you back." There was a significant pause. _I'm not going to like what I hear next, am I? _– "Welcome _home_, Locutis."

Any geniality that the captain had had immediately disappeared, replaced with a frown on his somber face. "What have you done to Earth?" he asked – very afraid of the answer.

"Why nothing, Locutis. We merely took it for our own. Your petty Federation now serves the collective. Why, _StarFleet_ doesn't even exist now! Resistance is futile, Locutis. You of all drones should know that best."

At that very instant a swarm of voices began to sing in chorus in Picard's mind. The shock of suddenly being so overwhelmed with the voices of the collective caused him to stagger back, dazed. At the very edge of his senses, he heard a voice holler "_Captain? Are you all right?"_ and _"Deanna to Doctor Crusher. Captain Picard's having some problems up here"_. Everything was quickly fading out to black as the chorus in his mind swelled with some dreadful crescendo. _Stop! STOP! My mind is my _OWN! Picard yelled throughout his mind. There seemed to be no end to the awful song in his mind, interleaving through his thoughts, beginning to make more and more _twisted_ sense. The rest of his senses were quickly leaving him. _I can't see anything – where am I? – what am I doing? – stop, Stop, STOP!_

Riker was kneeling over the captain. "Are you all right, sir?"

Deanna suddenly sensed something _pop_ in the mind of the captain. "_Will!_ _Get Back!_" Surprised, Will jumped back slightly. The captain's eyes were open, and his mouth began to move.

"Species: Human. Name: William T. Riker. Rank: Commander in now defunct Star Fleet. You will be assimilated. Resistance is, _and always has been_, futile."

_  


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	3. Chapter 2, Judgement (incomplete)

# Dark Destiny

## Chapter Two  
  
Judgement

_White. So bright. Can't see._

_"How many fingers, Jean Luc? How many fingers?"_

_No – no, anywhere but here!_

_"Four!"_

_"Wrong! There are five!"_

_Pain – searing from the bottom of one foot up the leg, across the pelvis, down the other leg simultaneously shooting through the stomach into the heart – spasms – cramps – death would be better than this!_

_"How many fingers!!??"_

The words echoed, as if spoken from afar.

"How many fingers, Mon capitan?"

The voice had changed. Picard opened his eyes, not realizing that they had been shut; the pain still fresh in his mind creating a landscape of searing white visible only on his eyelids. Unfortunately the landscape revealed by his now active retinas was no better than the projected one – all around him was a bleached white. The light was tolerable, and it came from everywhere. _No shadows of any walls, even though I can see the walls! So familiar – where am I?_

A voice from behind startled him out of his reverie. "Why, mon capitan, don't you remember?" Picard spun around to face the speaker. As he did so, the landscape around him suddenly shifted to take up the appearance of a great hall. Regaining his internal sense of balance, he looked around, taking everything in. He was standing on a podium that had stairs leading down to the main floor. On all sides there were bleachers. _All of them are empty. How curious…_ His gaze centered to a podium floating above the main floor. It was highly decorated and ornate.

_The trial…_

The thought struck Picard with such force that he visibly staggered. A loud thunderclap sounded all around him; turning he saw a gavel rebounding from its impact. "The court is now in session!" said an obviously jubilant Q.

_Q never said that the trial was over…_

"Captain Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_, active proclaimer of StarFleet and all its ethics and morals, this court has reached a decision about the future of your pathetic race." The words echoed in the large, empty hall. The spectators now so vividly remembered in Picard's mind had obviously given up on there being any excitement at this final stage of the trial; sentencing was surely bound to be boring.

Jean-Luc felt words rushing out of his mouth before he even had a chance to think about them: "And just how have you reached this decision, Q? Did you pull it out of a magic hat? How dare you judge our race for what you find patheticism!"

"Why – do you think the Q barbaric, captain? We are a thousand, no make that a million times more powerful and advanced than you and your impudent race, not to mention many times more civilized! What is the purpose of a court if the judge doesn't deliberate on his decision? Why have a jury only to decide the trial by throwing dice? Answer that, Picard, if you can!"

"Your _honor_, I have yet to see the jury."

Q rolled his eyes. Picard could certainly be an annoying prick. "Must you see them to believe that they truly exist?"

"Humanity has a great capacity for faith, but only in those that they trust. You I trust not. Show me the jury."

"You realize that you have no rights here, _human_. I will only grant you your request because I happen to like you." With that, he waved his hand in the air. Out of nowhere appeared another floating panel with twelve beings seated in a semi-circle, gazing expectantly at Picard and Q.

_They're all Q!_ "Your honor, is not the accused to be judged by a jury of his peers? How else can the judgment be accurate if the accused is not judged by those who know him best?"

The room fell totally silent. Q looked down and played with his hands for a moment. Then he sighed. The floating throne moved closer to the accused's podium and Q started to stand up. The podium only stopped when Q's nose was only an inch from Jean-Luc's. "You want to be judged by your peers? Really?"

Picard could only nod.

"Aren't you the least bit worried that they might judge you worse than the current jury?"

The thought hadn't occurred to him. _My peers judging for the destruction of humanity? Preposterous!_

"Is it, my captain? Since you seem to think so, here is your new jury!"

The twelve on the other floating platform disappeared in a wink to be replaced by two bright flashes and then two humanoids.

Picard recognized both immediately.

His hopes fell like a sinking ship taking on water.

Sitting there, staring straight at Q with a most solemn façade, was Commander Data and Captain Spock. 

+ * +

Shock turned to realization. Q had selected the two most logical beings that knew Picard _and_ the human race well. _Seems that I remember logic having gotten in the way with these things before_, he thought.

"Captain!" The voice echoed in the large room, but it was clearly Data who had yelled. "Are you all right?"

"Concerning that we're all about to be exterminated, I'm doing pretty good, Data. You?"

"I am – fine, sir. You, however – at least, before I was brought here, were not…"

_Uh oh – what's happening over there?_ "Explain, Data."_hohoh_

"Sir, you were apparently taken over by the Borg."

_The voices – I remember them! And then there was a… pop?_ Another voice was speaking, obviously the voice of Captain Spock. "Where, _exactly_, is here, if I may so inquire?"

Q decided to field the question, even as both Data and Jean-Luc had opened their mouths. "Oh, that's right!" Q said in a mock tone. "We've never met! Mr. Spock, I'm called Q. You are currently in the Q continuum."

"And where is this continuum? I know of no such thing."

"Where it _is_ is none of your concern." Turning back to Picard, he said: "Now, let's get back to business. _Mon Capitan_, are you prepared for the judgment of your peers?"

"How? They've not even had time to review the facts!"

"Ah, but they will – and in milliseconds in your perception, I might add. The decision will be pretty much instantaneous, as far as you are concerned."

The faces of Data and Spock showed that they were now worried. Data was the only one to speak. "Captain, you do realize that I must decide based upon the facts, and not what I may feel."

"I do, Data. Just do what you think best."

Data nodded, and then it seemed that both Data and Spock were enclosed in a translucent sparkling field. Their eyes moved quickly, indicating that there was a lot of mental activity – and perhaps even an increase in the speed of their time.

Picard had only time to blink.

Q was speaking. "Jury, how do you find the defendant?"

There was a pause.

A.

Long.

Pause.

Data and Spock had obviously deliberated while in their 'stasis' and the decision was obviously unanimous. The delay in voicing their judgment indicated that it wasn't good. Spock voiced the verdict slowly, knowing that he was most assuredly assuring the destruction of his own race as well. "We find… the defendant… guilty as charged."

_So this is what it feels like to hit the bottom of the rabbit whole,_ Picard thought wryly. "No, _mon capitan, _The bottom just got deeper." Q said, with a sadistic smile on his face. He stood up so as to deliver the impending judgment with more energy.

"All of the pathetic humanoid races are condemned to this fate…" Q vanished in a blink of light, only to reappear in another. This time his appearance was drastically altered. His skin was a sickly gray, and it appeared that half of him was machine… _Borg!_ "You will be assimilated." His voice pierced the soul of Jean-Luc Picard like a phaser beam. "_Resistance is futile._"

In that instant Picard knew his fate. _So, resistance really _has_ been futile after all._ The irony of the situation did not fail to impact upon his mind as his senses suddenly distorted and all became black.

* + *


End file.
